


when my mind is uncertain, my body decides

by andtimestoodstill



Series: i swear to god the devil made me do it [4]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Domestic Fluff, Gratuitous use of italics, Gratuitous use of parentheses, M/M, POV Adam, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish in Love, Sickfic, So Sweet It'll Rot Your Teeth, adam parrish has a crush on ron weasley, adam's type is emotionally stunted irishmen, but i did take some creative liberties, not even 4k self-indulgent words, this was actually prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 01:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20349757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtimestoodstill/pseuds/andtimestoodstill
Summary: “Can I take more DayQuil?”Adam checked his vintage (second-hand) watch. “No. Not for another hour.”The noise out of Ronan’s mouth was absolutely pitiful. Adam left the soup simmering on the stove, coming around the couch to press his hand to Ronan’s forehead. Ronan would probably deny it, but he definitely leaned into Adam’s palm, a relieved little sigh passing his lips, eyes fluttering closed.“What’s the prognosis, Dr. Parrish?”“We’re not gonna role play your doctor-patient fantasy, Ro.”(In which Ronan is a stereotype, but his boyfriend loves him anyway)





	when my mind is uncertain, my body decides

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XbPvaaAfhU)

Adam Parrish was pretty sure the term _man-flu_ was specifically created for Ronan Niall Lynch. Having grown up on a farm, Ronan didn’t get sick very often, but when he did—

“_Adam_,” Ronan whined from the couch. He was only wearing a pair of Adam’s ratty sweatpants (_they’re more comfortable than mine, Parrish_) and had a hand-stitched quilt (an Aurora Lynch original) wrapped around his large frame. He looked kind of, sort of, completely pathetic. Nose red, eyes glassy and unfocused, skin sallow, lips chapped. “Can I take more DayQuil?”

Adam checked his vintage (second-hand) watch. “No. Not for another hour.”

The noise out of Ronan’s mouth was absolutely pitiful. Adam left the soup simmering on the stove, coming around the couch to press his hand to Ronan’s forehead. Ronan would probably deny it, but he definitely leaned into Adam’s palm, a relieved little sigh passing his lips, eyes fluttering closed.

“What’s the prognosis, Dr. Parrish?”

“We’re not gonna role play your doctor-patient fantasy, Ro.”

Ronan opened one eye, “because I’m actually sick?”

Adam laughed despite himself. “No, that’s not why.”

Ronan pouted, and Adam withdrew his hand. His boyfriend let out a pathetic little whine, and Adam, whose patience with Ronan had not yet worn thin, dropped a kiss on Ronan’s sweaty forehead. “I’ll let you take some more ibuprofen after you eat.” Adam retreated to the kitchen, leaving Ronan to his _Great British Bake-Off_ marathon.

From the kitchen, Adam could hear Ronan shouting at the contestants. “Those fucking mangoes aren’t even ripe, Ron Weasley.” Ronan said the name of Adam’s second favorite fictional character (and maybe first boy-crush) like it was an insult, and Adam was _offended_.

“Hey,” Adam moved the soup off the burner, not wanting it to boil over. “Don’t talk about Ron Weasley like that.”

Ronan’s head peeked over the back of the couch. “I don’t have time for your Ron Weasley fetish, Parrish.”

Adam ladled a healthy portion of chicken soup into a bowl and carried it out to the living room. “I put up with your hand kink,” he put the bowl and a clean spoon down on the coffee table. Ronan, who was already a little flushed with fever, blushed even darker.

“Whatever,” Ronan maneuvered himself to a mostly seated position. “Thanks, Parrish.”

Adam popped open the bottle of fever reducer, dropping two tablets on the table. “Eat all your soup, and those are yours.”

Ronan eyed his soup with distaste, but he brought the spoon up to his mouth anyway. Adam pressed a kiss to Ronan’s temple, before heading back to the kitchen to pack away the remaining soup and heat up a plate of Chinese leftovers for himself.

Had Adam known that Ronan would only get needier from this point on, he would have cherished the relatively quiet night in. But Ronan became exponentially needier as the hours passed, and Adam was going to lose his mind.

***

Adam’s only respite from Ronan’s whining was work. The next morning, Adam left Ronan on the couch at half-past eight to catch the train to Williamsburg, begging him to finish his soup, or dry toast, or whatever ridiculous breakfast Ronan asked Adam to make for him.

At noon, Adam called Ronan, reminding him to eat and take some more ibuprofen. Adam took the DayQuil with him to work, not trusting Ronan with the cough medicine on his own.

Adam didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about Ronan while he was at work. For one, Ronan was a grown ass adult man who would survive this cold despite his whines. And two, Adam had a design deadline to focus on. He had a client who was an amputee, and he was looking for an alternative to the bulky crutches he got around on.

When Adam got home, a little before six, Ronan was right where he left him.

“Hey, I’m home.” Adam dropped his keys by the door and toed off his shoes. Since moving into their own apartment (in Prospect Heights, halfway between Adam’s old apartment and Monmouth), Ronan and Adam had found a reasonable middle ground in co-habitation. Adam enjoyed coming home to Ronan, even when his boyfriend was more snot than person.

Ronan peeked up at Adam without moving, _Bake-Off_ playing on the TV. “Hi,” Ronan croaked.

“How are you feeling?” Adam pressed the back of his hand to Ronan’s forehead. “Oh, you’re burning up. When was the last time you took ibuprofen?”

“Uh,” Ronan trailed off. He extracted one arm from his cocoon of blankets. In Ronan’s messy scrawl, _12:26_ was written across his left forearm in blue sharpie. “12:26?”

“Jesus, Ro.” Adam stood and stalked to the kitchen. He came back with a few slices of whole wheat bread. “Eat these,” he handed the bread over. Ronan took a bite apprehensively. There was a glass of warm (it was sweltering inside the apartment) orange juice on the table. Adam didn’t want to waste the juice, but he poured it out anyway. He filled the glass with cold juice, finishing off the carton. Before he could forget, Adam wrote _orange juice, no pulp_ on the grocery list stuck to the fridge.

When he returned to the living room, Ronan was finishing off the last of the bread. Adam handed Ronan the glass, following it with three tablets of ibuprofen. Once Ronan had taken the meds and finished his juice, Adam sent him off to shower.

While Ronan showered, Adam stripped the couch of Ronan’s sweaty (and germy) nest of sheets and blankets. He would have liked to disinfect the couch, but he didn’t have time. Adam settled for clean blankets, disinfecting the table, remotes, and Ronan’s phone by the time Ronan exited the bathroom, a little cloud of steam following him from the shower.

Ronan was still flushed, but his eyes looked a little clearer. “What happened to my bed?” His voice was quite raspy, and Adam had to tamp down the desire to kiss Ronan.

“I’m washing those sheets.” Thank god for the in-unit washer and dryer that Ronan insisted on. It was one of those luxuries that Adam would have been fine with living without, but now he was _ruined_.

Ronan scowled, but he burrowed back into the couch, nonetheless. “It’s less comfy,” he whined.

Adam rolled his eyes and retreated to the kitchen without responding. They had gone through quite a lot of soup the last few days, and Ronan was already sick of it. Had Adam trusted Ronan to feed himself while he was at work, he might have humored Ronan and made something that wasn’t soup for dinner.

But alas, Ronan was a mess and couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself, so he was having more soup for dinner. Adam did pick up some up from a Greek restaurant around the corner, however, so at least he wasn’t forcing more of the canned stuff on his boyfriend.

Adam heated up the soup in the microwave before settling next to Ronan on the couch, his own dinner in tow. “I went to the Olive Tree,” he said as Ronan appraised his soup and Adam’s gyro.

“I don’t want more soup.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

Ronan was either placated by that answer, or too exhausted to reply. He ate his soup, eyes not leaving the screen as the contestants scrambled around the tent to finish their bakes. Adam leaned back on the couch as he finished his dinner. He wasn’t obsessed with _Bake-Off_ like Ronan was, but he couldn’t help but get attached to the contestants, gasping as one of their cakes began to buckle under its own weight.

Ronan snorted, finishing off the last of his soup and maneuvering his head into Adam’s lap. Adam scratched at Ronan’s scalp, “what?”

“I thought you didn’t like this show,” Ronan turned a little to look up at Adam.

“No,” Ronan’s eyes fluttered closed as Adam increased the pressure of his nails. “It’s not my favorite show like it is yours.” Ronan huffed indignantly. “What? Is it not your favorite show? Because you’ve been watching it for three days straight now.”

Ronan rolled back over to see the TV better. “It’s comforting, okay?” He reached down and pulled a tissue, seemingly, out of thin air. Ronan blew his nose and tossed the used tissue on the table. “When I was a sick as a kid, I would sleep in the living room so that my mom could keep an eye on me, and we would watch cooking shows all day long.” Ronan reached down and began idly rubbing at Adam’s socked ankle. “I would keep them on when I slept, because it was kind of scary being in the living room all alone at night.

“The first time I got really drunk in college I went to Gansey’s dorm, and I was sleeping on his futon, and I remember demanding that he put on cooking shows because I didn’t feel well. I guess I associated feeling better with sleeping on the couch and watching other people cook.”

He said all of this, voice raspy, skin burning, and eyes glued to the screen as the contestants raced against the clock to apply decorations to their three-tiered cakes.

Adam really wanted to kiss Ronan, but he knew that he shouldn’t.

“I got really sick the winter of my freshman year of college. Blue and I were still only sort of friends, but apparently her mom or Persephone called her and said that I needed help, and she showed up at my door with canned soup and tea. My roommate was out for some reason, and she spent the whole night on my floor, making sure I was okay. That was the first time someone else had taken care me when I was sick. At least that I remember, anyway.”

Ronan turned back over. “That’s really fucking sad, Parrish.”

“No,” Ronan cocked one eyebrow and Adam sighed. “Okay, yeah, it’s objectively kind of sad, but what I meant was that it was nice to have someone take care of me. It was nice to give up that control for once.”

“Are you saying that I should call up the maggot and thank her for all the work she did to melt your cold, black heart?”

Adam flicked Ronan’s ear. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Ronan’s hand snaked back around Adam’s ankle and he pressed a kiss to Adam’s knee. “I’ll bother her in the morning.” He yawned. Then coughed. Then groaned and rubbed at his eyes.

“Are you tired?”

Ronan sniffed and nodded, but he didn’t loosen his grip on Adam’s ankle. Adam rubbed at the nape of Ronan’s neck and dropped a kiss onto the crown of his head. “You gonna go to sleep?” Ronan asked.

“In a bit, might answer some emails.”

Adam couldn’t see Ronan’s face, but he could hear the sneer in his voice. “No work in the bedroom.”

“I believe that your rule was _no work in my bed_, and right now, the couch is your bed…”

“Parrish,” Ronan rolled over again, dark eyebrows knit together in irritation. “You promised.”

Adam sighed and brought his fingertips up to Ronan’s forehead. With a feather-light touch, he rubbed away the wrinkles between Ronan’s ice blue eyes. “Okay. No work in the bedroom. I’ll watch TikTok compilations on YouTube or something.”

Ronan’s face tightened into a grimace again. “Ew, that’s actually worse than you answering work emails in our bed.”

Adam laughed. “Kidding. I think there’s a new episode of _Brooklyn-99_ that I haven’t seen yet.”

“Good,” Ronan’s features softened. “I love you.”

Adam had to physically restrain himself from kissing Ronan right then and there. “I love you, too.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Ronan’s overheated skin. Ronan sat up enough for Adam to stand. He moved Ronan’s sheets and blankets to the dryer, washed their dishes, and retreated to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Ronan was out cold by the time Adam was out of the shower, and Adam turned out all the lights and slipped into their bedroom.

It was strange sleeping alone again, he and Ronan were coming up on a full year of dating (well, a full year of both of them knowing that they were dating), so it had been a while since Adam had slept alone. There were pros, of course. Ronan was a class-A blanket hog and he was, despite his rough, _I will fuck you up_ exterior, a compulsive _snuggler_. So nine nights out of ten, Adam either woke up freezing or sweltering under Ronan’s extreme body heat.

(Okay, so maybe Adam enjoyed waking up wrapped up in Ronan’s arms. But he really didn’t enjoy having to shower before work because he was drenched in sweat)

But Adam missed sleeping next to Ronan. He missed glancing over at his sleeping figure every morning. He missed coming home to the bed made, since Ronan was the one who made it every morning.

Adam crawled into bed, nonetheless. He was fine. It was _fine_.

***

Adam was woken up in the middle of the night by his phone ringing loudly. Scrambling for his phone and answering it, he was greeted with a raspy “Parrish.”

“Ro? Are you okay?” Adam sat up, kicking away the blankets.

“Yeah,” he coughed. “Just missed you is all.”

Adam’s heart fucking _shattered_.

“I miss you too, baby.”

There was a pause on the other end “Ew.” Ronan didn’t sound nearly as annoyed as he should have, like he was aiming for irritation and missed it by miles.

“I was thinking about you before bed—”

“Like in a sexy way?”

(He sounded so hopeful; Adam had to choke back a laugh)

“No, but I was thinking about how I missed sleeping in the same bed as you. Even if you are a blanket hog that runs at a thousand degrees even when you don’t have a fever.”

“Mm,” Ronan hummed. “I miss sleeping in the same bed as you even though your feet are always cold and you sometimes snore.”

“I do _not_,” Adam said indignantly.

“You do,” Ronan chuckled, which turned into a deep, lung rattling cough. “But it’s honestly kind of cute. I think that everything you do is kinda cute, though.”

Adam settled back on to his pillows, eyes slipping closed. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that Ronan was right there in the bed next to him. “Yeah? I think everything you do is kinda hot.”

(Adam did not mean to say that aloud. Oh well)

“We are not having phone sex when I’m 25 feet away from you.” Ronan coughed, and oh right, he was still sick. “That’s a new level of millennial that I’m just not willing to stoop to.”

Adam couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, that would be fucking weird.”

A comfortable silence settled over the two of them for a few moments. “You’re my favorite person, you know that right?”

(Where the _fuck _had that come from?)

Adam made an inhuman noise, he cleared his throat and said, “yeah?”

“Mhm,” Adam could hear rustling on the other end, like Ronan was burrowing further into his blankets. “I love my mom and Matty and Gansey and Noah of course. Declan is okay I guess,” Adam choked out a laugh. “I even like Henry and the maggot. But you?” Ronan sneezed. “You’re my favorite person out of all of them.”

“Ro—” Adam rubbed at his eyes; they were pricking with tears. His voice was thick.

“Adam?”

“You’re my favorite person too,” he said at last, voice, embarrassingly, cracking.

“I love you,” Ronan mumbled.

“Love you too.” Adam yawned.

“Will you stay on the line?”

“Yeah, of course. ‘Night.”

“Goodnight, Parrish.”

***

Adam forgot the DayQuil at home like an idiot. In his defense, he was a little groggy after his late-night phone call with Ronan, and they were out of coffee, so Adam had to leave a few minutes earlier so he could pick up a cup at the bodega on the corner. But he had forgotten the DayQuil at home in the process, and he came home to a fish tank.

“What the fuck, Ronan?”

The tank was on top of one of the low bookcases Adam had bought off of Amazon a few weeks ago for his small collection of paperback science-fiction books. The bottom of the tank was covered in sand, fake plants lining the sides of the tank. In the center of the tank was a fake skull meant to look old and weathered. The filter was running, but Adam couldn’t see any fish.

Ronan stepped out of the bathroom. “Cool, right?” He was grinning dopily, like he had taken way too much DayQuil.

“Where are the fish?”

Ronan flopped down on the couch, wrapping himself back into his cocoon of blankets. “The tank has to cycle for at least 24-hours,” the _duh_ was implied in his tone.

“How am I supposed to know that? The closest thing I’ve ever had to a pet was a stray dog who used to wander around the trailer park.” Adam glanced back at the tank and then Ronan. “Wait. That’s not the point. Why the fuck do we have a fish tank?”

“I wanted one,” Ronan shrugged and pressed play on the remote, British voices filtering over from the television.

“Seriously, Ronan.” Adam stalked over and turned the TV off.

“Hey—”

“Why did you get a fish tank?”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “I was going a little stir crazy and I was feeling better, so I went for a walk. Ended up at a pet store. Bought all the shit for a fish tank. Should I have gotten a hamster instead? Maybe a bird?”

“No,” Adam rubbed at his face, fatigue settling into his bones. “You should have _asked_.”

“It’s a fish,” he said, like that was either an excuse or an explanation.

“Also,” Adam scooped up the box of DayQuil capsules off the table. “The only reason you felt okay was because of this.” He shook the box for good measure. “You weren’t actually well enough to go out.”

“I’m fine. I didn’t _die_.”

“Yeah,” Adam sighed. “But you might get worse, your body is trying to fight off infection and walking around fucking New York City isn’t going to help.” He checked inside the box, counting the remaining pills quickly. “Do you know what would happen to you if you took too much of this stuff?”

Ronan’s left arm snaked its way out of his cocoon of blankets. “I wrote down when I took a dose.” His forearm was a mess of blue sharpie, writing completely incomprehensible to Adam who hadn’t been dosing himself with cough medicine all day. Adam told him as much, voice clipped.

Ronan peered up at him, blue eyes squinting. “Are you more mad that I went out, or are you more mad about the fish tank?”

Adam groaned and tossed the DayQuil back onto the coffee table. “Both, Ronan.”

“Oh.” Ronan did have the decency to look sheepish. “I can try to return it—”

“No, it’s fine.” Adam sat on the table and reached out to check Ronan’s fever. “I don’t want you trying to go out again. But I’m not feeding your fish.”

“You know, my mom said that about lots of my pets growing up. She would always end up taking care of them in the end.”

“I’m not your mother.” Adam stood. “Also, you’re having more soup for dinner.”

“_Parrish_,” Ronan groaned. Adam ignored him.

***

On Wednesday, Adam remembered to bring the DayQuil with him to work after giving Ronan his morning dose. It seemed like his fever had broken in the night, but he was still achy and congested. Adam left him with a plate of scrambled eggs and a kiss to his sweaty cheek.

He was on track to finish his designs for his client, and before he left the office his email inbox was clear. It was a good day, and he was looking forward to going home to Ronan. He had texted Adam at about half-past three saying that his temperature was back to normal. Adam was planning on celebrating this with a non-liquid dinner. On the way home from the subway, Adam picked up some much-needed groceries.

Adam toed off his shoes and made his way to the kitchen as soon as he was home. He called out “hey, Ro, I’m home.” Ronan was still on the couch, sans blankets. Adam wasn’t sure _what _he was watching, but it wasn’t _Bake-Off_, so he really must have been feeling better.

“Hey,” Ronan smiled up at him, sitting up as Adam rounded into the living room. “We have a new roommate.”

Adam glanced around the living room. He expected that Ronan, in all of his post-fever confusion, had invited Henry to live with them or something.

(Henry had been talking about making the move to Brooklyn, in Adam’s defense)

“What?” he asked at last.

“The fish tank, dumbass.” The way Ronan said it was almost like a term of endearment.

(Jesus Christ, Adam was in love with him)

Adam turned and walked up to the fish tank. In all his stress at work, he had forgotten about the fish tank. Leaning down to get a better look, Adam was surprised to see the creature inside.

“Is that a crawdad?” he spun around. Adam could hear the echoes of his accent leeching through his words, but he was pretty sure he was physically incapable of saying the word _crawdad_ without his Henrietta accent.

“Technically, I think so. But the pet store called it a lobster.”

Adam glanced back at the little water bug. It had a shiny black shell, and it walked around the tank, claws held aloft. “Why a lobster?”

Ronan shrugged. “I wanted to pick the dumbest sounding freshwater animal. Lobster won out. I’m pretty sure that the combination of my fever and all that DayQuil might have clouded my judgement, but I still think she’s pretty cute.”

Adam laughed, then paused, the noise dying in his throat. “Wait, you said you wouldn’t leave the house today.”

Ronan rolled his eyes languidly. He did look much better, his face a much more natural shade of pale. “I didn’t.”

“Okay, then how did you get a lobster into our apartment?”

“You can get anything on Postmates.” He shrugged, like it was so fucking normal to order a live lobster on the Internet that was then delivered to their home to keep as a _pet_.

“What the fuck,” there was no heat in Adam’s tone, just utter exasperation.

“Her name is Chainsaw.”

“What the _fuck_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on this anonymous prompt I received on tumblr:  
**_also.... the softest of soft self indulgent prompts in that verse......... sick fic? like pynch vs finals plague or work plague depending on timeline? i can totally be more specific but just...... soft _**
> 
> I did take some creative liberties, but I hope you enjoyed it, Anon!
> 
> I'm working on another AU, but it sort of got away from me, so I wrote this to post in the meantime. It will be a multi-chaptered fic, but I won't start uploading it until it's finished.
> 
> Also, I had a pet lobster for a while, he was the love of my life. RIP Dante, you were the best little man.
> 
> Comments/Kudos are always greatly appreciated ♥︎
> 
> You can send me prompts (for this 'verse or anything really) [here.](https://andtimestoodstill.tumblr.com/ask)


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